by G. P. Taylor
‘They were old friends – Pugachev’s mother was Austrian. I
opened a letter he sent to her yesterday saying they had met.’
‘What killed them?’ Mariah asked as yet more guests stormed down the steps of the Prince Regent and into the street.
‘It is more who killed them. Inspector Walpole will soon be here. Think before you speak to him. That man has wanted to see the back of me for many years and I wouldn’t trust him an inch. Think before you speak.’
Mariah took a final look at the pile of grey dust where the Ambassador had stood. He picked several small shards of glass from his jacket and as he turned to the lobby saw that it had filled again with guests wanting to leave.
‘What shall we do?’ asked the weasel-like receptionist as she clambered to stop them from leaving.
‘Let them go. It’s a cold night and there are no trains until the morning. Perhaps they’ll enjoy a night on a park bench. I’ll be in my office.’ Charity looked steely-faced and tried not to show a glimmer of emotion. He suddenly felt as if he were in the jaws of a tightly sprung lion trap and that there would be no escape. One death would be mysterious, two a cause for concern, but four in the same night and from the same symptoms shouted conspiracy. He looked at Mariah as he closed the door behind him and was angry with himself for allowing Isambard Black to recruit the boy into the Bureau of Antiquities.
‘Nowt but a lad,’ Charity said under his breath as he crossed the large office to the desk by the fire.
Outside the office, Mariah looked out for Sacha. For some reason she had not followed him to the ballroom and now she could not be found. Mariah waited by the revolving door and kept the guests that were left away from the pile of ash that was the late Ambassador and his wife. He knew this was the best place to find Sacha; she would have to come this way if she wanted to get to her room in the tower.
With one hand, he picked the skin from his lip until it was sore. The thought of the masked murderer plagued his mind. He couldn’t get away from what he had glimpsed in the mirror. Mariah wanted to go to the mirror and stand before it and see if the vision appeared. This time he would be ready – he would turn as soon as the mask appeared and see if the man was real or just a figment of his imagination. Nothing was certain, he thought, as more guests packed their luggage and speedily left the hotel.
It was then that a tremor struck the whole of the Prince Regent, as if there had been an earthquake in the bay below the hotel. A vast sound set the foundations of the building vibrating and shook every bone in Mariah’s body. It was like the amplified groan of a whale.
‘Look!’ screamed a waiter from the balcony bar. ‘It’s a ship.’
Captain Charity ran from his office.
‘Quickly, Mariah. It’s the Irenzee – a day early.’
Everyone rushed to the windows that overlooked the harbour and the bay. There, setting anchor in the calm waters, was the biggest vessel that Mariah had ever seen. It shone silver against the sea and had three tall masts which each appeared to be fitted with the blades of a windmill. A steam funnel came out of an illuminated bridge in the centre of the ship and to the rear was a large phosphorescent spotlight that not only lit up the ship, but also cast a dark shadow across the town.
Mariah was pressed against the window glass by several thin, prune-like spinsters all dressed in mourning black. One tried to push him out of the way so she could get a better view. She smelt of seaweed and muttered under her breath about the disgraceful behaviour of young people. The spine of her whalebone purse pressed into Mariah’s back until he could take her persistent irritation no more.
Charity dragged him to one side, opened the door to the
balcony and stepped out into the cold night air. Far below, the ship began to glow as more phosphorescent lights were illuminated. Charity handed Mariah a small brass telescope through which he could clearly see the ship in great detail. He scanned the decks, but could see no crew; in fact he could see no one at all.
Even the bridge of the ship was empty. The blades on each mast rotated slower and slower until they finally stopped. Then the ship’s horn blasted again, sending a shock wave through the water and shaking the Prince Regent. One by one the rotor blades folded into the masts. In turn each mast folded back into the deck of the ship. The funnel slowly contracted back into the roof of the bridge, and beneath the ship the sea began to glow bright red as if the sun was about to rise from beneath it.
The sharp, sword-like bow of the Irenzee came out of the water like a scimitar facing towards the town. The ship’s powerful searchlights quizzed back and forth and lit up the Prince Regent with their blinding light.
‘Why has it come to a place like this?’ Mariah asked Charity as the two watched spellbound.
‘Zogel is a powerful man. I saw him once in Africa. On the day he arrived, his gifts changed the lives of so many people. He took away their contentment and gave them misery. Zogel showed them a new world and a desire to have what they could never get.’
‘What does he do?’
‘Charms people – and then like a spider sucks their juices until they have nothing left. Wherever the Bureau is involved, Zogel is not far behind. Some say he is the richest man in the world and yet no more miserable wretch have I ever found. He is an inventor. But, the things he invents are designed to kill people. Kill them as quickly as possible.’
Mariah stared at the Irenzee. The searchlights still dashed back and forth across the town, lighting up the roofs of the houses and frightening great flocks of seagulls into the night sky. He thought that even in its beauty there was something quite menacing about the ship. Mariah slowly lowered the telescope and looked at Charity.
[ 4 ]
Inspector Walpole
AN hour later Inspector Walpole arrived at the hotel. Captain Charity had asked Mariah to wait for Walpole and show him immediately to his office, but Mariah had spent the time looking at the Irenzee and wondering where Sacha had gone. The longer she was away the more his concern grew. He had even used Charity’s brass telescope to scour the faces of the crowds of people who had gathered on the long seafront to look at the ship. She was nowhere to be seen. He knew that it wasn’t like her just to vanish – Sacha was always there.
Walpole banged his hand repeatedly on the bell on the desk in the lobby. From what Mariah could hear, the man was not in a good mood.
‘Walpole – Inspector Walpole,’ he snapped at the elderly receptionist who was just finishing a plate of mussels. ‘I’m here to see Charity about the explosions.’
‘I’ve been asked to –’ Mariah said as he came face to face with the Inspector. The shock of seeing Walpole was evident on the boy’s face. He had never seen a man like this before.
Walpole was seven feet tall to the inch. In his long, thin fingers he gripped a rolled umbrella that in his large hand looked
as if it were made for a child. On one finger Mariah could see a gold sovereign ring, and etched into its face was what looked like a square and compass. Mariah had seen the design before, on the front door of the house opposite the Prince Regent. Every Thursday evening he would watch as men jumped from their carriages and scurried up the steps as if they did not want to be seen. When he had asked what went on in the house, no one would tell him.
‘A society of secrets,’ Rhamses the chef had said in an unguarded moment. Mariah asked nothing more but from the porthole of his tower room he always watched the strange visitors to the ramshackle Athol House across the square.
‘I want to speak to the organ grinder, not the monkey,’ Walpole barked at Mariah as he stared at him. ‘What are you looking at? Never seen a policeman before?’
Mariah gulped. Apart from Walpole’s incredible height, long pointed nose, thin face and greasy hair, the man was also incredibly thin with a neck like a giraffe. In the middle of his throat he had a large Adam’s apple that bobbed distractingly up and down with every breath he took.
No less alarming than Inspector Walpo
le’s appearance was his suit. It was bright green, pinstriped, and made of thick Irish tweed. The jacket was belted around the waist and the trousers stopped three inches above the man’s ankles. This made him look as if he had grown to an incredible height in a short period of time.
‘Here, take this and do something useful,’ he snapped. He handed Mariah a porkpie hat with an exceedingly greasy rim and a leather bag with a brass handle. ‘Now, where’s Charity?’
Without a word, Mariah led Walpole to the office. He knocked and then entered. Charity sat at the large desk in front of the fire. It reminded Mariah of when he had first seen Gormenberg. In all that time, nothing had changed.
‘Inspector Walpole, thank you for coming,’ Charity said as he stood from his chair.
‘Don’t talk rubbish, Charity. I’m here because I have to be and nothing more. Keep the pleasantries for your guests – well, the ones you have left,’ he said with a snigger and a grunt at the same time.
Charity didn’t reply. He nodded for Mariah to sit down on the chair by the door. Walpole looked at the boy and grimaced.
‘Is he staying?’ Walpole asked as he hung his umbrella over his arm and fiddled with the gold ring on his finger.
‘Mariah is my assistant – whatever you want to say can be said in front of him.’
‘Then you’d better be telling me what’s going on. The streets are already full of stories that people have been involuntarily exploding and erupting, like –’
‘It’s true,’ Mariah interrupted. ‘I saw them all. They burst into flames, exploded, and turned to dust. The American Ambassador was trying to get out of the hotel through the revolving door with his wife …’
‘People don’t explode, boy. People don’t burst into flames and turn to dust. It’s not normal.’ Walpole stared at Mariah with one raised eyebrow as if to tell him to shut up.
‘They exploded. Baron Hoetzendorf then Mr Pugachev, the emissary of the Emperor of Japan and the American Ambassador …’
‘Typical. Foreigners never die normally,’ Walpole said under his breath.
‘Important guests, and their deaths will have consequences, Inspector Walpole, consequences.’
‘That they will. I have to find out if it were natural consequences or murderous consequences.’ Walpole stopped and stared at Mariah as if he was inspecting every inch of him. ‘You’re the lad from the Paradise murder aren’t you? Attacked
by the masked man – the one who mysteriously got away.’
Mariah nodded and instinctively touched the wound on his face. He didn’t like Walpole. The man smelt of snuff and the smoke of the herring shed.
‘Left you something to remember him by, did he?’ Walpole quizzed, his eyebrow raised even higher than before. He picked a strand of tweed from his jacket with his knife-like fingers and then said, ‘Strange, that. We have five deaths in one night and the only factor that links them all is that this young Mariah is near to everyone. Gets me thinking, as an officer of the law, that you are an interesting fellow. Gets me thinking that you may know more about all this than you’re letting on.’
‘I was at four of the deaths, Walpole. Does that make me interesting?’ Charity asked, knowing where Walpole’s mind was taking him.
‘It makes you both interesting. Since we were boys I always knew there was something not right with you – going off to your fancy London school, joining the army, being a hero.’ Walpole sounded bitter. His nose twitched as he spoke and little strands of spittle formed at the corner of his mouth.
‘Not his fault,’ Mariah butted in angrily. He hadn’t realised that Walpole had known his godfather for all those years.
‘Leave it, Mariah,’ said Charity. ‘Theodore Walpole has always been the same. He was born an hour after me and has chased me all of his life. Did you ever know that my father sent me away because of you, Theodore? You made my life a misery and the Colonial School could never be called fancy.’
‘That’s what you say – always good with your words. Never knew what real work was – fopping around in all your gold braid – someone to wait on you hand and foot.’ Walpole stopped and thought for a moment as if remembering a pleasant memory. ‘I recall – I almost forgot – wasn’t your father worried that some ruffians who were never found strapped you
to the pier at low tide? Couldn’t they hear you screaming for help from the other side of town?’
Charity didn’t reply. He knew the memory well. It had haunted him often. Seven boys in sacking hoods tying his hands, dragging him across the harbour mud, strapping him to the wet arches of the far pier. The smell of the cold water rising about his neck as he had managed to spit out the gag and scream.
‘Must have been quite frightening – would scar any normal boy for life,’ Walpole quipped casually.
‘Did you come to find out why these people died or just to insult Captain Charity?’ Mariah shouted at Walpole.
‘I take it he’s another one of your Colonial boys, is he, Jack? Too big for his boots if you ask me – but nothing a good hiding wouldn’t sort out.’ Walpole snivelled as Charity cast a glance to Mariah bidding him to be quiet. ‘Cat got your tongue, Mariah? Run out of words, have we?’
‘I think, Theodore, that you should do the job you came to do and not say anything more,’ Charity said as he walked to the door and opened it for the Inspector to leave.
‘Don’t worry, Jack, I’ll be about my business and you about yours. Doubtless we’ll meet up – and perhaps …’ Walpole paused for a moment as he looked about the room and snivelled his words. ‘Perhaps you may even have to come and speak to me in my office. Can’t promise anything as snug as this, but at least the prison beds are comfortable.’ Walpole wiped the strands of spittle from his mouth. ‘Now, Charity, I think I should be looking at the remains of these foreigners. Can’t leave the American Ambassador blowing away down the street, can we?’
Walpole left the room; he ducked under the door as he snatched his hat and leather bag from Mariah. Charity and Mariah followed on as the Inspector went to the revolving door to look at what was left of the Ambassador and his wife. The
Inspector got on his knees and examined the grey powder, then, reaching inside his leather bag, took a silver snuffbox and very carefully filled it with some of the remains.
Throughout all of this he never spoke. One by one he did the same to the other piles of powder that were once the emissary of the Emperor of Japan, the Russian diplomat and finally Baron Hoetzendorf. It was only when he was finished that he asked Mariah exactly what had happened.
Mariah remembered what Charity had said about not saying too much. He was brief and to the point, explaining to the Inspector all the events prior to the spontaneous combustions. Throughout the questioning, the Inspector eyed him warily as if every word he spoke was a lie. At one point he asked Mariah to empty his pockets on the table. Mariah refused – the only thing of value was his badge for the Bureau of Antiquities and that he would show to no one without good reason. Walpole had then asked Charity for a list of everyone at work in the Prince Regent that night.
‘Is it murder?’ Charity asked as Walpole put aside his investigations and closed his bag.
‘Well, it’s not normal – how many people have you ever known burst into flames and explode? A rather sudden way to depart the world, wouldn’t you say, Charity?’
Charity nodded as Walpole took his snuffbox from his pocket and laid a line of silver powder across the back of his hand. Mariah smiled as he realised that Walpole was about to inhale a good sniff of the late American Ambassador.
Walpole put his hand to his nostril and with the seasoned relish of a snuff addict inhaled deeply. The dust vanished as if sucked into the vortex of a tornado. Walpole winced immediately. He screwed up his face and pinched in the end of his nose. He took the silver snuffbox from his pocket, flipped the lid and looked inside. To his horror he realised his mistake.
‘Dyargh – snyam – asspew!’ The Inspector sneezed. His greased and cur
tained hair shook wildly. The gush blew what remained of the American Ambassador into his face. Mariah looked away as if to search for something on the floor. Charity folded his arms and gritted his teeth. ‘Not funny, Charity, and given half the chance I’ll wipe that grin from your face.’
Walpole brushed the American ashes from his bushy eyebrows, folded the lid of the snuffbox and slipped it quickly into his pocket. He set off at a pace along the corridor towards the revolving door. With every step they could hear the man chunter and moan. As he turned to step through the door he looked back.
‘I’ll find out what killed them, Charity, and then I’ll be – ASSPEW!’ He sneezed again and dropped the leather bag to the floor. ‘I’ll be back …’
Walpole left the Prince Regent hurriedly.
‘He thinks it’s me,’ Mariah said to Charity.
‘He wants it to be you – there is a difference. Walpole and I have been at war for most of our lives. There is something in his heart that hates me and everything I stand for. If he has half a chance I’ll be in that new prison of his.’
‘What killed them?’
‘Whatever it was, it kept them from speaking to me.’ Charity looked solemn as he pulled three notes from his pocket. Each was written on the headed paper of the Prince Regent. The embossed crown on each note sparkled in the gaslight. ‘They are all virtually the same, Mariah. They all wanted me to meet with them before the arrival of the Irenzee. Even the emissary of the Emperor said he needed to speak. Each one said they had something of interest to the Bureau of Antiquities.’ Charity looked back and forth along the corridor, not wanting to be overheard.
By now, the lobby of the hotel was virtually empty. A last
party of guests dragged their cases to the door in a desperate attempt to escape the epidemic of spontaneous combustion. Outside, a small coach waited to take them to the station.
‘Did they say what?’ asked Mariah.